


Take Me Somewhere Better

by orphan_account



Series: Bad Things Happen 1.0 [4]
Category: Cartoon Therapy (Web Series), Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: ????????, Abandonment, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Child Abandonment, Child Neglect, Dehydration, Desperation, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Isolation, Maybe - Freeform, Mild Blood, Only he's bad at it, Parent Dr. Emile Picani, Starvation, Unsympathetic Dr. Emile Picani, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26606965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: There is no escape.He knows he’s destined to die in here.He wonders if he’s partially to blame for that.(He’s not, but the hopelessness and resentment remain all the same.)
Series: Bad Things Happen 1.0 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1928308
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	Take Me Somewhere Better

Andy sits in the corner of his room, knees pulled to his chest and hands absently running along the carpet, pulling at loose threads in their wake. He aches, aches in ways and places he didn’t even know could ache, but no matter how badly he wants to move his body refuses to do so, too weak and tired to so much as move an inch. Cold sinks into his body, tremors violently running down his spine and his arms and his legs until he’s nothing but a shaking, whimpering mess. He can’t remember the last time he ate or had something to drink.

He can barely keep his eyes open, but at the very least he manages that, too afraid of what might happen if he falls asleep. Part of him can’t find the energy to care.

Dried blood coats his fingers, nails either chipped and bitten down to the nub or gone altogether, having been worn away from scratching at his very locked, very immovable door.

He thinks, almost hysterically, that if he hadn’t been so desperate at the start, he might have been able to reach the key he knows is on the other side and escape, but that is nothing but an impossibility now. He’d pushed it back onto the other side while trying to retrieve it, and now it was out of reach, barely visible if he were to look underneath the door.

There is no escape.

He knows he’s destined to die in here.

He wonders if he’s partially to blame for that.

(He’s not, but the hopelessness and resentment remain all the same.)

Andy glances over at the clock on the wall, head lulling back and vision becoming unfocused.

4:17pm. Friday—or at least, he thinks it’s Friday. Everything’s blurred together, with the state he’s in.

But if it _is_ Friday, that means it has officially been three days since his hypocritical bastard of a father left him to die. “Too much of a hassle,” apparently—which is laughable, considering the man is a fucking _therapist_. Makes him wonder what kind of treatment he gives his patients.

A cloud spreads across his mind, and Andy’s breathing slows, the tremors in his hands growing worse as the minutes tick by. His eyes slip close despite his best efforts, a choked sound escaping him as his dry, irritated throat constricts. Exhaustion washes over him in waves.

But even as the tremors worsen and the world starts to darken around the edges, he can’t help but be relieved. All he can think about is how much better it would be if he could just be somewhere else, somewhere _better_.

And, well. A few hours of sleep couldn’t hurt.

(It’s not like he’s getting out of here anyway.)


End file.
